


it will feel like going home

by knoxoursavior



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bottom Kozume Kenma, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/pseuds/knoxoursavior
Summary: Kenma's lips curve up into a smile.“Wakatoshi,” he says. He lifts up the blanket, inviting.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	it will feel like going home

**Author's Note:**

> unfortunately, there's only really a bit of riding :(

Kenma wakes to his own warmth, trapped underneath the blankets he's wrapped around himself. He fell asleep with deep orange sunlight peeking through the blinds, but it's dark now. There's only the blinking lights on the WiFi router, the faint light peeking from underneath the door, and then, when his eyes adjust, a shadow across the room, tall and broad-shouldered—

“Wakatoshi? Is that you?”

Kenma keeps his voice low, as quiet as Wakatoshi's careful footsteps, but Wakatoshi hears him anyway. He turns, and Kenma sees the dark line of his jaw cut into the blue-gray of the walls.

“Did I wake you up? I'm sorry,” Wakatoshi says, and Kenma feels himself unfurling. He stretches out his legs, brings his arms up over his head as he arches his back. The cracks and pops of his body are as comforting as the slowly sharpening sight of Wakatoshi walking towards him.

“It's okay,” Kenma says. He settles back into the sheets, grabs the blanket from where it has bunched up around his waist and brings it back up to his chin. “What time is it?”

The bed dips as Wakatoshi sits down on it. His hip presses against Kenma's thigh, and his hand finds its way onto Kenma's stomach. His warmth is subdued, diluted by the fabric separating them, but Kenma burns where they touch anyway.

“Just past seven o’clock,” Wakatoshi answers, and  _ ah,  _ that sounds about right.

Kenma feels around under his pillows for his phone, and has to squint his eyes when he opens it. There are a few messages, many more notifications on his social media, but he ignores all of them for now in favor of turning off his alarms.

He puts his phone back down, and replaces it with Wakatoshi's wrist. His fingers must be cold against Wakatoshi's skin, but Wakatoshi doesn't flinch, doesn't react any other way than to lean closer. 

Kenma's lips curve up into a smile.

“Wakatoshi,” he says. He lifts up the blanket, inviting.

But Wakatoshi shakes his head. “I shouldn't. I haven't started dinner yet.”

Kenma tightens his grip around Wakatoshi's wrist before he reorients his touch, from his palm and fingers pressed against Wakatoshi's skin to a single finger tracing a line up Wakatoshi's arm, feather-light. 

“It's still early. Come hug me please?”

He feels it when Wakatoshi shivers, hears it when  Wakatoshi breathes out, deep and deliberately slow . Kenma knows what Wakatoshi’s answer will be even before Wakatoshi fits himself into the space beside him.

It's easy by now for Kenma to press himself against Wakatoshi, easy for his arms to find their way around Wakatoshi's waist. Much like how it's easy for his forehead to find its place in the junction between Wakatoshi’s neck and shoulder. Wakatoshi smells like the soap he keeps in his locker at the gym, and his arms feel like heaven wrapped around Kenma.

Kenma missed him. Even though it's only been a few hours, even though he was mostly busy the whole day, even though Wakatoshi called him that afternoon to make sure he remembered to eat lunch—Kenma  _ missed _ him. Maybe it's because he knows Wakatoshi will be gone that weekend, off to Osaka for back-to-back games. Maybe it’s just because Kenma yearns for him all the time without even realizing it, gravitating towards him immediately whenever he’s in the same room. _ Maybe.  _

But Wakatoshi is here now, here for the moment, and Kenma will take what he can. He presses a kiss to Wakatoshi's skin, and another, and another up along the line of his neck. Slides his hand from the small of Wakatoshi's back to his side. He keeps his touch light, teasing, and it makes Wakatoshi shiver just as he intends.

Kenma smiles against Wakatoshi's jaw, “Let's just order something, okay?”

“Okay,” Wakatoshi says, shaky. Kenma wants to drink it up, and so he does, surging upwards to close what little distance is left between them.

Kissing Wakatoshi feels like coming home, and having Wakatoshi’s arms around him feels like curling up by his window and basking underneath a summer sun. Wakatoshi envelops him so perfectly, so thoroughly, and it isn't overwhelming, isn't too much. It just feels _right._

Kenma wants to get drunk on Wakatoshi's breath, wants to whisper prayers into Wakatoshi's lips, wants this moment to continue on forever, and he hopes Wakatoshi feels all of those things with every brush of their lips. 

And maybe he does, because Wakatoshi matches him, opens up so readily when Kenma licks into his mouth, seeking more.  _ Wanting _ more that all Wakatoshi does is give and give and give without hesitation.

Kenma kisses him until he runs out of breath, and it’s only then does he remember that he exists outside of this little bubble of theirs.

He presses his hand against Wakatoshi's chest, pushes until Wakatoshi is on his back. He wishes there was more light, wishes he could see Wakatoshi's lips wet with spit, see the way his cheeks darken with a flush that reaches the tips of his ears, the same way it does when he gets worked up. But Kenma doesn't want to have to leave Wakatoshi, to bear the absence of Wakatoshi's skin against his.

Wakatoshi is here now, and Kenma doesn't want to let go of him until he's had his fill, until he's so sated and tired and _loved_ that his limbs melt and his body sinks into the sheets. Kenma wants to see Wakatoshi, but he'll settle for feeling him.

He throws one leg over Wakatoshi's hips, settling on top of him. His knees bracket Wakatoshi's waist, his legs spread wide enough that the fabric of his shorts rides up his thighs, bunching up near his hips.

There's a growing bulge in Wakatoshi's sweats, and Kenma makes sure to sit right on top of it, makes sure that it fits perfectly against his ass. Makes sure that every time he shifts, he coaxes out a moan, a grunt, a whimper out of Wakatoshi's lips—and he  _ does. _ Every sound that Wakatoshi makes because of him is beautiful,  _ addictive.  _

Kenma doesn't always do this, doesn't always take charge to this extent. And happily so—he likes to let Wakatoshi take care of him, likes to let Wakatoshi treat him gently, lovingly. Warm hands on his body, worshipping him. Lips on his skin, leaving whispered praises in the dip of his bowed lip, his collarbone, his hip. Like he's the most precious thing in the world. 

But sometimes, he wants  _ this. _ He wants Wakatoshi held with his entire body, wants Wakatoshi desperate for him, almost  _ begging _ for him.

He feels Wakatoshi's growing frustration in how tightly he holds onto Kenma's thighs, how tense his abdomen is under Kenma's wandering hands. Kenma grinds down against his cock, and he's rewarded with a strangled groan, with a thrust of Wakatoshi’s hips and fingers digging even further into his flesh, just on the edge of being  _ too much. _

And Kenma can’t take it anymore. He  _ wants  _ it to be too much, wants Wakatoshi’s cock in him, fucking him until he cries. He leans over to the side, takes the bottle of lube from the bedside table without so much as leaving Wakatoshi’s lap. And once he has it, Kenma takes the hand Wakatoshi has around his thigh, slicks one, two, three fingers up with lube, his own hands shaking, heart beating quick in his chest, anticipating.

He pushes aside the fabric of his shorts, breath catching when it brushes against his cock, but he ignores it, ignores his own painfully hard cock in favor of helping Wakatoshi open him up. Wakatoshi’s fingers are long, and they’re usually anything but clumsy. In the dark though, Kenma has to guide him, has to hold on tight, has to encourage him, “Yes, yes, there, Wakatoshi, come on,  _ please.” _

And then Wakatoshi finally slides one finger inside him, and another, and another, and it feels  _ right.  _ Not too much, not yet, but it’s enough to curb the heat building in Kenma’s stomach, the niggling feeling taking over his mind that wants and wants and  _ wants. _

Kenma still hasn’t let go of Wakatoshi, his hand closed tight around his wrist, keeping it where it is as he rides Wakatoshi’s fingers. It’s enough. Until it isn’t, until Wakatoshi starts to grind up against him harder, more frantic,  _ desperate.  _ His cock is hot underneath Kenma, hot even through the layers of fabric between them, and Kenma happily lets Wakatoshi's fingers leave him as he pulls down his sweats, pulls out Wakatoshi's cock, hard and slick with pre-come.

Kenma doesn't even have Wakatoshi in him yet, and he's already shaking. Already weak for it, breathless for it. His thighs shake as he wraps a hand around the base of Wakatoshi's cock, so much so that he has to reach for Wakatoshi, has to anchor himself as he sinks down on his cock.

And  _ this— _ this feels like stars exploding into existence in Kenma’s chest. Feels like shedding his skin and growing it anew in a split second. Feels like being filled to the brim with pleasure and being pushed over the edge every time Wakatoshi thrusts his hips, every time he buries his cock deep inside Kenma, every time he rocks into him.

It's too much, and it's everything Kenma wants. The intensity of it, the way he's driven to mindlessness, the hyper-awareness of every inch of his skin that Wakatoshi is touching, from his insides to his thighs to his palms.

It's all  _ too much, _ and Kenma barely even realizes he's shaking uncontrollably until he's already collapsed against Wakatoshi. Until they're already chest-to-chest, until Wakatoshi's arm is already wrapped around his waist and his cock is stuck between them, rubbing against Wakatoshi's abdomen in time with Wakatoshi's cock thrusting into him.

It helps, and it doesn't help. Having Wakatoshi all around him, holding him, still fucking into him—it comforts him as much as it overwhelms him. He feels himself warming up, surrendering to the pleasure coursing through his body. He takes everything that Wakatoshi gives him, lets it build and build and build inside him until it finally spills over.

Kenma comes, and it feels like lying down at the end of a long day. He melts into Wakatoshi's body underneath him, lets himself relax and drift back into reality as Wakatoshi rocks into him, slow and gentle, barely moving at all.

“It's okay,” he says, and his voice is raspy, his throat raw. He wonders if he's been screaming; it feels like it. He tries again, “It's okay, Wakatoshi. Fuck me. Come for me, baby.”

And Wakatoshi does. Starts to fuck into him harder, faster, chasing his own climax. 

Kenma presses a kiss to Wakatoshi's neck. Murmurs praises and reassurances despite his burning throat, bears with the overstimulation, the burning heat of his pleasure transforming into infinite warmth, into this overwhelming happiness.

He wants to tell Wakatoshi,  _ I love you, I love you, I love you, and I'll never stop loving you,  _ and so he does. He does, weaves it in with everything else he's been saying, and he repeats it until Wakatoshi finally,  _ finally  _ comes.

Kenma bears that too, welcomes it. Smiles as Wakatoshi shakes underneath him. 

“I love you,” he says. One last time for tonight. He lets the taste of it linger on his tongue, lets it coat his lips as he kisses Wakatoshi's skin.

And when Wakatoshi settles, he wraps his arms around Kenma in a hug, buries his nose in Kenma's hair.

“I love you,” he replies, muffled. 

Kenma hears it anyway, and he closes his eyes, presses his smile against Wakatoshi's neck.

It feels like home.

**Author's Note:**

> my [twt](https://twitter.com/singeiji)!


End file.
